


Quantum Luck

by kikkimax



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Other: See Story Notes, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:57:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikkimax/pseuds/kikkimax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does Blair have bad luck because of all the things that happen to him? Or is he exceptionally lucky because he always manages to land on his feet? Maybe it's a matter of perception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quantum Luck

## Quantum Luck

by Kikkimax

Author's website:  <http://www.zirask.org/>

Sigh. Oh that they were mine.

Thanks to Keerah, my beta reader.

Um, this story isn't really an AU, slash, or even a death story. But then again, it could be all three since some of it does take place in an alternate reality, Jim loves Blair, and somebody dies. You'll have to decide for yourself what this one is.   


* * *
    
    
                                             Quantum Luck 
                                            By Kikkimax
    

"Ok, Blair, stay calm for me. What does it look like?" Joel asked, meeting Simon's frightened eyes across the desk, knowing whose number he was punching in. 

"Umm, it's in a tool box, and there's like a digital clock on top," Blair reported rapidly. "It's at four minutes, thirty four seconds." 

"Don't worry, we've got plenty of time," Joel lied, nearly dropping the phone from his sweat drenched hand. "The bomb squad is on the way and Simon is calling Jim right now. You sure the door is locked?" he asked, praying that somehow it would open this time. 

"Yeah, Joel, the door is locked from the outside. I'm gonna die in here, man," Blair's voice sounded hollow, defeated. 

"No you're not. Stay with me, Blair. How many wires are going into the timer?" 

"Two. A black one and a red one. No wait, there's a white one coming from the bottom, too. Uh, Joel? It stopped." 

"What stopped?" 

"The timer went blank when I touched the white wire." 

"Blair, get away from it! Get under something!" Joel screamed into the receiver, causing everyone in the bullpen to stop and stare with honest concern. There was a loud crash and then the line went dead. "Blair! Oh my God, Blair?" 

* * *

"Ellison," Jim said as he thumbed on his cell. 

"Jim! Get over to the university. There's a bomb in the basement of Hargrove Hall," Simon all but shouted, causing Jim to flinch and pull the phone away briefly. 

"Where's Sandburg?" Jim asked urgently as he turned the truck around sharply and headed back the way he had come. 

"Where do you think? If there's a problem, you know he's right in the middle of it!" 

Jim dropped the phone and concentrated on driving, all the way telling himself that no one had the kind of luck with near misses that his partner did. True, Sandburg attracted the worst kind of psychos, and got into the most dangerous messes, but he always landed on his feet. Jim felt a sudden jolt as Blair's essence was ripped from him, causing a momentary loss of control of the vehicle. He recovered the skid as he whipped into the parking lot, just as he heard the blast. Slamming on the brakes, he jumped from the truck in time to see the back corner of the building fold in on itself, leaving a gaping hole and a rising dust cloud. He ran to the crumbling wall, choking on the dust and began to claw his way through the debris, listening carefully for any sign of Blair. 

Suddenly he latched onto a familiar cadence. It was weak and thready, but he recognized it as Blair's heartbeat immediately. Somehow, it seemed different. And the difference threw him, his mind searching for the disparity as his ears strained to hear it. 

The next thing he knew, Simon was kneeling next to him, and a large hand was pressed firmly against his shoulder, easing him back towards the ground as he tried to get up. "That was some zone out," Simon said quietly as an EMT moved away, assured that Jim was okay now. Rescue workers occupied the gap that Jim had been single handedly excavating. "Someone pulled you away before I got here," Simon explained. "Do you hear anything?" 

Jim cocked his head briefly. "Yeah, I still hear him. He's alive," he answered as he sat up. Simon closed his eyes briefly, his lips moved in a silent prayer. Jim wondered to himself if Blair was still with them in spirit as well as body, for the long denied bond between them was gone. It had disappeared a second or two before the explosion. 

A shout from one of the rescuers and scrambling around the wall brought Jim back from his thoughts. He moved towards the activity, but Simon held him back until they could see a group of men carrying something out of the rubble. They both moved forward, and each grabbed a spot on the backboard that Blair was strapped to. 

"Hey buddy," Jim whispered as he positioned himself next to Blair's head. "You're going to be fine." He doubted his own words, as he could no longer feel his Guide, even as he made physical contact. 

"It looks bad," one of the paramedics said as they lowered the board to a stretcher. "Let's not waste any time here. I'll start treatment en route." 

Jim climbed into the ambulance as soon as Blair was loaded and they sped away, leaving a stunned Simon behind to sort out the details. 

* * *

There was a brilliant flash of light, a twist of nausea in his gut, and then nothing. Blair Sandburg, your luck just ran out. That was his last conscious thought. Some time later, a second? An hour? An eternity perhaps, he woke. Hazy light filtered around him, dust motes dancing in the early morning air. He was warm and comfortable, his bare skin surrounded by soft, clean sheets. His lack of pain bewildered him. Was this heaven? Why did heaven look so much like the loft? If he were alive, surely he would have woken in a hospital, not at home, upstairs in Jim's bed. 

He felt each hand and arm in turn and touched his face and chest gingerly. Nothing hurt. There were no cuts, except for the one on his chin where he nicked himself shaving this morning. No bruises, no IV lines... He was fine. It must have been a dream. He allowed himself a chuckle as he wiped his eyes in relief. 

"What's so funny?" Jim asked as he climbed the stairs. 

"Oh, man, you wouldn't believe the dream I just had. I was locked in this room with a bomb and it went off. It was so real," Blair exclaimed. 

"You? You're the luckiest man alive. Something like that would never happen to you," Jim snorted. 

Blair looked up at Jim with a smirk as the bigger man sat on the edge of the bed with a genuine smile, and not a trace of sarcasm on his face. "Me? Lucky? That's a good one," Blair laughed. 

Confusion passed across Jim's features briefly, then a subtle sadness crept into his clear blue eyes. "Oh. You mean my wife. I explained about that, Blair." 

"Carolyn?" Blair asked, once again clearly perplexed. "You mean ex-wife." 

"God you're stubborn," Jim said as he reached out and stroked Blair's hair tenderly. "You need to get out of here. She's coming home today. And no shower. I don't want to have to try to explain long brown hairs in the drain again." 

"Get out of here? You're kicking me out?" Blair asked dumbfounded. 

"Unless you want to chance it and make love one time before she gets here," Jim answered evenly as he ran a hand down Blair's bare chest and under the covers. Blair bolted from the bed, taking the sheet with him. 

Jim laughed heartily. "I didn't realize that you were that scared of her." 

"Just how did I end up here in your bed naked, anyway?" Blair stammered indignantly as he attempted to cover himself, his cheeks glowing red in his embarrassment. 

"I found you at your office passed out. Again. I swear, I want you to stop working all night on that quantum thing. I shouldn't have brought you here, but I thought that if you woke up in time...." 

"Quantum thing?" Blair interrupted, shaking his head to clear it and looking around at his surroundings a little more intently. Everything was as it should be, yet somehow different. Jim's room was mostly the same, but there were subtle feminine touches; a lace doily, a figurine, a frilly throw pillow. And Jim was still Jim; at least he looked like Jim and talked like Jim. But he was also sooo not Jim at the same time. 

"Sorry, I'm not nagging, I swear. I know that now that you've solved all the mysteries of sentinels that you have to have something to keep that overactive brain of yours busy. But isn't one Nobel Prize enough?" Jim asked eyeing the buttock that peeked from under the sheet that had slipped a little from Blair's shaking hand. 

"The bomb did go off, didn't it? I'm either dead or delirious," Blair reasoned hysterically. He caught the look that Jim was giving him, understanding it for what it was. Lust. "I'll be out of here in a minute," he said, grabbing his neatly folded clothes off of the dresser. 

"When did you get so shy?" Jim asked, tugging at the sheet. 

"Just give me a minute, would you?" Blair practically pleaded through clenched teeth, yanking the sheet out of the Sentinel's grip. 

Jim dropped the sheet and blinked back a hurt expression. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing, Jim. Nothing's wrong. I'd just like a little privacy. Is that too much to ask?" 

"Blair, if I leave Carolyn, we might just as well come out at the station. You know what that would do to my career. She promised not to tell about our affair if we break if off. If I don't leave her." 

"Affair?" 

"No, it's not just an affair. You know what I meant. Why do we have to go through this every time? You're so melodramatic." 

Blair swallowed hard. "Please, Jim. Just go downstairs. I'll be down in a minute." 

"Ok. You win. I'm just trying to protect you. Protect both of us," Jim sighed in exasperation. "Bring the sheets with you when you come down," he called over his shoulder as he trotted down the steps. "Carolyn has a Blair-hair detector. She always knows when you've been here. Sometimes I think that she's a sentinel herself." 

"Right," Blair muttered as he sank down to sit on the bed, hanging on to the sheet with a death grip. "I've got to wake up," he whispered to himself. 

"If you're not down here in three minutes, I'll wake you up. You know that I know how," Jim threatened seductively from the kitchen. 

Nothing wrong with his ears, Blair thought to himself, keeping a watchful eye over the rail just in case Jim tried to sneak up on him while he dressed. Taking a good look at the clothes as he put them on, he realized that while the size was right, the price tag wasn't, right down to the Tommy Hilfiger boxers. He opened the wallet and stared intently at his own face in a driver's license picture, sans glasses, that he had never posed for. Where the hell were his glasses, anyway? Blair Sandburg-Robart he squinted to read. Robart? 

"Time's up!" Jim called from below. Blair closed the wallet and stuck it into his back pocket, grabbed the sheets off the bed, and hurried down the steps before Jim could make good on his threat. 

"Here," Jim said, pressing a lightly toasted bagel into Blair's hand as he accepted the armload of sheets. "I called you a cab. Can you wait outside? She's on her way now. She beeped in while I was on the phone with the cab company." 

"Sure, no problem," Blair answered as he headed quickly for the door, not knowing what kind of a send off he might get. He stopped and thumbed through his wallet. "I, uh, don't have any cash," he began. 

"You never have any cash," Jim teased, pulling out his own wallet and peeling out two twenties. The absent-minded professor in spades." 

"Thanks," Blair muttered, putting a hand up as Jim leaned in as if to kiss him, catching the bigger man square in the face with his palm. "Later, man." He grabbed the cup of coffee in Jim's hand, ducked out the door, and kept going without looking back. 

"I love you," Jim called out after him. 

Blair turned as he hit the elevator button and made eye contact with the man that should have been Jim. He nodded and tried to smile. When the door opened he entered the car quickly and hit the close door button. "I'm losing my mind," he whispered and poked a finger at the number one on the panel. He didn't see the smile fade from the other man's face as he turned dejectedly to go back into the loft. 

The man that looks like Jim brought me here, Blair reasoned as he burst out onto the street, so the Volvo will be at the university. He sighed and sat on the curb to eat the bagel and drink his coffee as he waited for the cab. As he finished up, a car pulled into his usual spot. 

"Hi Carolyn," Blair said glumly as the door slammed and the seriously pissed off driver advanced on him. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked. 

"Sitting on the curb," Blair answered innocently as he got up, wiping off the back of his jeans with his hand. 

"I've told you to stay away from my husband, you little home wrecker," she spat out. 

"I don't see your husband here anywhere, do you?" Blair asked sarcastically. A taxi pulled up and Blair opened the back door, but Carolyn grabbed him by the wrist before he could slide into the seat. 

"I don't care how smart or rich or important you are," she hissed. "I'm not letting you have Jim." 

"Rich? Important? I don't understand," Blair said extracting his wrist and handing the half full cup to her before getting into the cab. 

"Go to hell, Blair," Carolyn said and turned back to her car, popping the trunk and pulling out a suitcase. Jim was coming out of the door, ready to break up whatever fight he thought might be in the making. He took the suitcase and the cup, stopping to dump the contents in the gutter, making eye contact with Blair as he did. Carolyn grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back inside. Jim followed the angry woman back into the building, boldly sparing one more look over his shoulder at Blair. 

"Sorry," Blair said as the cab pulled away, knowing that pseudo Jim would hear him. "Take me to Rainier," he told the driver. 

"Rainier? The guy on the phone said you was goin' to the warehouse district." 

"He did?" Blair asked. 

"Yeah." 

"He gave you the address?" 

"That's right." 

"Ok. Take me there," Blair sighed, pulling out his wallet again and taking a better look at his driver's license. Sure enough, it had his old address listed. 

The taxi ride was short, in the context that Blair hadn't had time to figure out what was going on. "I'm dreaming. Or I'm dead. Hopefully I'm dreaming and I'll wake up soon," he told himself under his voice as they pulled up next to his old building. Sort of. The worn down warehouse was gone, transformed into an elegant apartment building. 

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Blair asked, pulling out one of the twenties and giving it to the driver. 

"Uh huh. It's real nice, ain't it?" 

"I'll say," Blair whistled as he accepted his change and climbed out of the cab, generously tipping the driver since it was Jim's money. 

"Good afternoon, Dr. Sandburg," the doorman greeted. 

"Holy cow! When did all this happen? This place was toast the last time I was here," Blair noted as he gazed in amazement at the urban renewal around him. 

"Sir?" 

"Doctor Sandburg?" Blair asked, working on a thirty second delay. 

"Yes sir?" 

"You called me Doctor Sandburg?" 

"Yes sir?" 

"Stop doing that." 

"Yes sir." 

"You do know me, right? Ralph?" Blair asked, reading the man's nametag. 

"Of course I do, Dr. Sandburg. I've worked here for almost two years." 

"I live here?" 

"Are you all right, Dr. Sandburg?" the man asked seriously. 

"If you know me so well, call me Blair," Blair insisted. 

"I could never do that, Dr. Sandburg!" Ralph gasped. 

"Why not?" 

"I... because.... I...." 

"Never mind," Blair sighed. "I just wish I knew what was going on. Ralph? Where do I live?" 

"Apartment 1A, sir." 

"Thank you," as Blair waited for Ralph to open the door, he dug in his pocket to find a set of keys. 

As expected, 1A was right inside, just off of the spacious, elegant hallway. He found a key that looked like a door key and stuck it into the lock. His mouth fell open as he opened the door. The spectacular apartment made the loft look dingy and dark. The opposite wall was completely glass, almost three stories high, and looked out onto the water. The floor was covered in plush, deep blue carpet and the leather sofas were large and expensive. The open floor plan gave the impression of expansiveness, only the spiral staircase that led up to the exposed bedroom above broke the clean lines. 

"Wow!" Blair exclaimed as he looked around. There were tribal masks on the walls, Native American art, and a large selection of CDs that reflected his tastes. Not to mention a huge entertainment center complete with big screen TV, DVD player, stereo, etc... Personal pictures topped the baby grand piano that sat between the living area and the kitchen and Blair moved quickly to look at them. Some were of Jim and him together, in one they both wore suits and were surrounded by a bunch of important looking people and Blair held some kind of document. He couldn't make out exactly what it was without his glasses. A couple of the pictures were of Naomi, and there was one of her with a man that Blair didn't recognize. Love Mom and Dad, it said at the bottom in a bold script. 

Blair swallowed as he studied the picture carefully, looking for any similarities between him and the man in the picture. The eyes. Definitely something in the eyes. And the chin. "It's your dream, Sandburg," Blair muttered to himself as he placed the photo back with the others. "Make it as big as you want it." 

A persistent ringing echoed from somewhere near one of the couches, so Blair backtracked into the livingroom to try to locate it, flipping pillows into the floor until he found the streamlined cordless phone. "Hello?" he said tentatively into it. 

"Dr. Sandburg? Are you all right? What happened? You weren't in your office this morning and I got scared. Did it work? Are you coming in today?" 

"Whoa! Hold on a minute. Who is this?" Blair demanded, unnerved by the steady stream of questions. 

"It's me, Stacy." 

"Stacy? Isn't that a girl's name?" Blair asked in confusion at the deep voice. 

"And Blair isn't?" came the angry reply. "Oh, sir! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that like it sounded. Really! I'm just stressed out. I was so worried when I couldn't find you this morning." 

"Stacy! Chill out, man. I'm a little confused at the moment. I mean, I'm not quite sure what's going on. Maybe you can help me." 

"Of course, after all, I am your research assistant. I am still your research assistant, aren't I? You're not going to fire me because of that little misunderstanding just now, are you? I know how you feel about impertinent grad students." 

"What are you talking about? I am an impertinent grad student," Blair chuckled. 

"Sir?" 

"Where are you?" 

"I'm at your office." 

"Is my car there?" 

"Yes sir, that's why I was so worried when I couldn't find you. Your office was locked up tight and I know you never remember to lock anything, and your car was in the lot." 

"Listen. I'll take a cab and be right there. Wait for me, ok?" 

"Ok? Of course I'll wait. Sir." 

Blair hung up the phone and looked around for a phone book, giving up, he dialed 411 to get the number for the cab company. 

* * *

"Have you found Naomi yet?" Simon asked quietly as he entered the room. He stood behind the big detective and rested a hand on his shoulder. 

Jim cleared his throat and wiped a hand across his face, removing the telltale moisture. "Uh, Rafe and Brown are working on it for me. I gave them what I had on her last known location and they are doing a little detective work to find her." 

"Good. That's good. I'm glad they can help. Any change?" Simon asked hopefully, daring to sweep a glance over the pale and silent observer who lay still as death on the bed, tubes and wires like high-tech spaghetti all around. His face was surprisingly clear of damage, with only a small cut under one eye, with the beginnings of a bruise around it. If not for the breathing tube, he would have appeared to be sleeping, his hair splayed around his face on the pillow. 

Jim shook his head. "I asked them to wait until Naomi could get here to do anything. He's got a donor card, and I know he'd want them to take whatever they think can be salvaged. But I also know how devastated Naomi would be if she didn't get here in time," he said unsteadily, stopping to clear his throat again. "So they are going to keep him on the ventilator until she gets here." 

The room went silent, except for the even beep beep beep of the monitors as Simon stood at the edge of the bed, one hand on Jim's shoulder, the other reaching out to finger a lock of long brown hair. "He looks like an angel," Simon breathed after a while, noting the halo of light shining down around Blair from the small lamp that hung over the head of the bed. 

"He is now," Jim sighed, new tears springing from his eyes as he reached for a lifeless hand and softly caressed it. 

"Can't you do that thing again?" Simon asked desperately, becoming a little misty himself. "You know, like at the fountain?" 

Jim took a long ragged breath. "I tried. In the ambulance. He's just not here anymore, Simon. I can't reach him." 

* * *

"Are you sure this is where you wanted to go this time?" the same taxi driver asked as he pulled into the parking area nearest to Hargrove Hall. 

Blair couldn't help but grin at the confused cabbie who had dropped him off at 'his place' twenty minutes earlier only to return and pick him up again. "Hey, your guess is as good as mine," he said cheekily. "I don't see my car anywhere, though, so I may see you later." 

"You musta really tied one on last night to lose your car." 

"Hmmm. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'll wake up with my head in the toilet and find out that I was really drunk last night," Blair muttered to himself as he paid the driver and got out of the cab. Once again, he tipped generously. 

"You sure are crazy," the man exclaimed, "but I'll take you wherever you want to go." He smiled as he counted the money before driving away. 

Blair stood and stared at the building for several minutes. If the bomb had gone off, surely there would be some visible damage to the wall. But Hargrove Hall stood as proud as ever. Except for the sign out front that proclaimed 'Robart Physics Lab'. 

Robart again. Physics Lab? Where the hell was the anthropology building now? Blair wandered around outside the building, stopping to stare at the area where the hated fountain had once stood. It was now a small parking lot, and the very first spot was reserved for none other than Dr. Sandburg. And it was occupied by a cherry red, hot off the presses sport coupe that was so unique that Blair didn't recognize the make or model. He once again dug out his keys and examined the ring. Yup, definitely a car key, and it didn't fit a Volvo, that was for sure. Ok, this must be the place. 

Although it was still very early, Blair entered the building through a side door and hit the first set of stairs to get to his office as quickly and surreptitiously as possible. Only when he got there, there weren't any offices. Only storage rooms, and not for artifacts. These were locked up tight. And guarded. 

"Can I help you?" a voice called from down the hall. "You're in a restricted area." 

"Sorry," Blair said as he turned, ready to make up an excuse for being where he obviously wasn't suppose to be. 

"Oh! Dr. Sandburg! I'm so sorry. I didn't recognize you, I mean, you don't ever come down here, sir," the nervous guard rambled. 

"I, uh, got turned around I guess," Blair said as he headed back to the stairs, but stopped on the first step and turned back to the guard. "Um, excuse me. Could you tell me where my office is?" he asked meekly. 

"Of course, Dr. Sandburg. It's the very first office on the first floor. You can't miss it when you come through the front door." 

"Right. Silly me," Blair sighed and ran up the stairs as fast as he could. The absent-minded professor had better get a grip, he thought dourly, or he may end up at the funny farm. At the top of the stairs he headed towards the front of the building and stopped outside the ornately carved oak door with a lovely gold plaque on it. Dr. Blair Sandburg-Robart, Ph.D., Ph.D., Nobel Laureate. 

Blair was still staring at the door when it opened. "Dr. Sandburg? Are you all right?" 

"Stacy?" Blair asked, recognizing the voice from the phone call. 

"You don't look too good, why don't you sit down?" 

"Ok," Blair sighed again and started to slide down the wall to the floor. 

"I meant in your office, sir," Stacy clarified and grabbed Blair under the arms and hustled him into the large, posh office. Blair found the couch and lay down on it, covering his eyes with his hands. It was all just too much. 

"Would you like a drink of water?" Stacy asked anxiously. 

"Oh, yeah. That'd be nice. Thank you," Blair sighed as his mind struggled to take in the new information. He sat up and looked around when Stacy slipped a glass into his hand. "This is my office?" Blair asked, very impressed. 

"Uh, no." 

"Oh," Blair said and took a large mouthful of water. 

"This is your secretary's office. Yours is through those doors," Stacey informed him and pointed to the large double doors that matched the oak one that led to the hall. 

Blair choked on the water and coughed it up all over the Persian rug. "Oh, God. There's more?" he asked in amazement bordering on overload. 

The young man knelt in front of the couch and studied Blair intently. Blair took the opportunity to really see Stacy for the first time. He was about Blair's age with short, curly blond hair and green eyes. A bit taller than Blair, but thinner. He appeared to be very intelligent, but most of his seriously serious face was overshadowed by the coke bottle glasses that rested on his nose. 

"Have you seen my glasses?" Blair blurted out, remembering the last time he had seen them they were lying on his desk. His real desk, back in the real world, before the bomb went off. 

"Dr. Sandburg, you don't wear glasses," Stacy informed him. "You had Lasik surgery a couple of years ago. Your eyesight is 20/20." 

Blair picked up a magazine from the table next to the couch and squinted at it. Nope. He definitely still needed his glasses. But that seemed to be the only thing that wasn't different here. Wherever here was. He sat back and sipped his water as he gathered his thoughts. 

* * *

Blair had been moved from ICU to a terminal care room. His body was left on a ventilator to preserve his vital organs until tissue typing could be completed and Naomi could arrive. But those were the only things standing between Blair and the literal pulling of the plug, as he had no brain function to speak of. Except for the beating of his strong, stubborn heart and the artificial respirations provided by the vent, he was already dead. 

Naomi had been traveling in India. Of course she would be halfway around the world at a time like this. When Brown had finally located a friend of a friend of hers who actually knew where she was, or more accurately, knew where she would be by the next day, he left an urgent message for her to call Jim at the hospital. When she finally did call, all Jim could manage was "It's bad. Please come now." And then they had cried together long and hard over the phone line, thousands of miles apart. Now she was on her way and would arrive sometime in the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours, depending on her transportation. 

Someone somewhere was already divvying up Blair's precious gifts, at least on paper, to desperately sick people all over the state. As the tissue cross matches were completed, people were being called in and prepared to receive their new organs. Heart, lungs, and right kidney were already spoken for; unfortunately the left kidney had been damaged in the blast, along with his pancreas. His liver was to be split into three parts and it was still being decided to whom those parts would go. Long bones would be taken and processed into graftable bits for future use. And of course, his corneas. That part still bothered Jim a little. He had no intimate contact with Blair's assorted insides, but his eyes.... Jim knew his eyes so well. 

The thought of Blair being carved up and handed out had initially made Jim's blood run cold, but he was determined to fulfill Blair's last wishes. Even if he lost a part of himself in the process, along with Blair's bits and pieces. As he remembered his dear friend's giving nature, his empathy for the sick and injured, and his love of life, suddenly it seemed right that Blair should live on in others. That a part of him should survive in the people who received the very heart of him, and more. Although stunned, hurt, angry, confused and so very, very sad Jim found some peace in that thought. 

"Don't take your organs to heaven. Heaven knows we need them here." Jim had read that once on a bumper sticker, but that's all it had meant then. A platitude, a clever quote, something that other people did. Not something that affected Jim personally. Not until his life became so closely entangled with that of this little tree hugger that he called friend. And this seemed to be the ultimate recycle. Blair would enjoy the analogy Jim decided with a faint smile. Maybe he would go down to the driver's license office and register as a donor before.... Well. There would be time for that later. Right now, there were still too many things to be done. Jim wanted to make sure they were done right. 

The focus of attention given Blair was shifted from urgent medical care to comfort and maintenance. Most of the tubes and wires were gone now. Only the IV, Foley catheter, and heart monitor remained, along with the ventilator. Pain meds flowed freely, although everyone assured Jim that Blair was long past any pain. But, just in case, no one wanted him to suffer needlessly. 

As the only available 'family', Jim was invited to join in the routine care, which he gladly did. It seemed like a very small way to repay some of the huge debt that he owed to the only person in the world who had never abandoned him. Until now that is. Jim swallowed back the anger, and then the guilt of being angry at the thought. A nursing student joined him to give Blair a bed bath. They worked opposite each other, exposing only as much skin as they needed to as they went. She washed Blair's face and neck while Jim worked on his chest and right arm. When she got to his left arm, Jim was already covering his chest and moving down to clean Blair's right leg. 

He froze as he pulled the cover away and saw the completely smooth skin under the light layer of hair that covered Blair's thigh. Running sensitive fingers over the bruised, but otherwise unmarked muscle, Jim stared in disbelief. He yanked the cover off the other leg as well, knowing full well which leg had the scar, but he hadn't been mistaken. There was no scar from the gunshot wound on either thigh. Jim stumbled back from the bed drawing ragged breaths as he continued to stare at Blair's legs. The nursing student stood awkwardly nearby unsure of what she should do. 

It hadn't actually been a bad scar, but it was certainly deep enough to sink a fingertip into. Jim had seen it many times. In fact, his eye was often drawn to it whenever Blair wore shorts or wandered around in his boxers, as it painfully reminded him of his occasional failures to protect his Guide. And now it was gone, along with the bond that they had once shared. How? Why? Who was this person lying prostrate in this bed? And where was Blair? Jim bolted from the room, unable to stay in the presence of the impostor another minute. The student gaped after him for a minute before covering her patient's legs and somewhat calmly proceeding with his bath. 

* * *

Blair was aware he was being scrutinized when he finally got the nerve to leave the couch and head to the double doors. He opened one of them and cautiously peeked inside. The room was huge. Walls had been removed, because there had previously been no offices this big in the building. Apparently Rainier was serious about keeping their Nobel Laureate. Then he spotted the diplomas on the wall and moved directly to them. His, or rather the real occupant of the office's Ph.D. in anthropology was dated the year that he had met Jim. The Nobel Prize was dated the next year, as was the Physics Ph.D., which by the way, was honorary. Apparently, what Dr. Sandburg-Robart wanted, he got. Including turning the whole anthropology building into a physics lab to suit his new fancies. Still, there had to be some heavy duty financial support coming from somewhere. And Blair didn't really see it coming from the Cascade PD, even though there was a framed gold shield next to the diplomas. Also honorary. 

When he turned back around, Stacy was staring at him with his mouth open. "You're really not him," he whispered. 

"I'm not who?" Blair asked, knowing full well who he meant. But he wanted to hear the words. He wanted someone else to acknowledge his waking nightmare. 

"You're not Dr. Sandburg. I mean, you are, of course. But you're not." 

"How do you know?" Blair asked desperately. 

"Because you're as blind as I am. No, not really, nobody's that blind. But you'd have loved to have had some specs to examine those diplomas just now. Which by the way, Dr. Sandburg already has memorized by now since he reads them every day. And you're lost. Totally and completely lost in this existence." 

"Right, right. This existence. You understand that this isn't where I belong," Blair said expectantly. "Do you know how I got here?" 

Stacy chuckled slightly. "Yes. I know how you got here. I even know how to get you back. If you're interested." 

"If I'm interested? Yes, please! Can we do it now?" Blair asked. 

"Don't you even want to know what happened?" 

"Yeah, sure, great. As long as you can get me home." 

"You're not like him at all," Stacy mused. 

"How so? Are we not the same person in two different realities? He does seem to have a whole lot more luck than I do, though. I've got to admit that." 

"Luck?" Stacy asked. "You were, I mean he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Luck had nothing to do with it." 

"Really? 'Cause I grew up kinda poor. By choice, I admit. Well, by my mother's choice anyway." 

"Hmm," Stacy muttered as he thought about the situation. "I can't get you back just yet. I have to work out a few things with the accelerator." 

"Whatever," Blair said grateful to be going home. "I'll just wait over here." 

"Um, it's gonna take a while. Maybe a few days. Why don't you relax and enjoy yourself. See how the other half lives until I get things ready." 

"Oh," Blair said, utterly disappointed. "Jim's gonna be worried is all. I was in this room with a bomb and ... Oh. Where is Dr. Sandburg now?" he asked with trepidation. 

"He is in your reality. Essentially, you traded places." 

"I guess he's not really all that lucky then," Blair exclaimed as he sat down behind the large desk of his other self. "I was about to be killed when I woke up here. Or rather at my friend's house." 

"Killed?" Stacy asked and sat down as well, on the opposite side of the desk. 

"Yeah. If we really traded places, Dr. Sandburg got blown sky high right after he got there." 

* * *

Simon opened the door only a crack since there was a sign on it that read 'Bath in Progress'. Peeking in, he noticed that Jim wasn't in the room. Instead, a nervous looking young woman stood with a razor in shaking hands as she approached the bed. 

"Excuse me," he said and entered the room, since the bath itself seemed to be over. 

The girl jumped and spun on her heel holding the safety razor out in front of her like a weapon. 

"Easy there, young lady. I'm a cop and I'll disarm you if I have to," he teased. 

"Oh, sorry. I guess I'm a little jumpy," she all but giggled. 

"You got a license for that thing?" 

"No. I've never actually shaved anyone before. Mr. Ellison was going to show me how," she explained. "But, um. He had to leave." 

"Jim had to leave? Why? Where did he go?" 

"I don't know. We were bathing Mr. Sandburg and suddenly Mr. Ellison got all weird and started pulling the covers off and then he just ran out of the room!" 

Simon sighed and pulled his glasses off to rub his eyes. "This has been very hard on Detective Ellison. Mr. Sandburg is very special. To all of us. Jim just needs a little time." 

"I understand," the student said. 

"You want a hand? I'd be glad to show you a trick or two," Simon offered, more for Blair's sake than the girl's. 

"That would be great, Mister." 

"Just call me Simon," Simon said as he read the girl's nametag, "Trina, is it? Ok, Trina, first off, let's use hot water..." 

* * *

"Are you familiar with quantum theory?" Stacy asked as he led Blair to a locked door on one wall of the office. 

"Yes. I was actually quite interested in the multiple universe ideology a few years back," Blair said. 

"It's not just an ideology, Dr. Sandburg..." 

"Stacy, I'm not him. Just call me Blair, ok?" 

"Right! Of course, Blair," Stacy said, still adjusting to the facts. He left the key hanging in the lock and leaned against the wall. "Ok, Blair, quantum law dictates that the fundamental constituents of reality, i.e. protons, electrons, etc., are not hard and indivisible. That is each particle exists in many places at one time. The validity of this has been proven in every conceivable experiment. It is the most powerful, accurate, and predictable science theory ever developed. In fact, without quantum mechanics, we wouldn't have cell phones, palm pilots, and CD players. Which everyone agrees, exist." 

"Ok, but most physicists restrict quantum theory to the subatomic level," Blair argued. 

"Yes they do, but they shouldn't, because everything is made up of these particles, including ourselves. The same rules have to apply to everything. We can't just say arbitrarily that sentient beings are exempt from the laws of physics. Therefore, all possible variations of our lives, each and every choice that we make or don't make, all conceivable events, must exist." 

"The fork in the road theory," Blair mused. "That would explain the differences in our realities, even though Dr. Sandburg and I are essentially the same person." 

"Do you think you can narrow it down to the choice that lead you in different directions?" Stacy asked with the gleam in his eye of a true scientist. 

"I'm not sure, but obviously, we are very different. If I were to guess, I'd say that it goes back further than any decisions that we made. I'd say it goes back to my mother's decision to include my father in our lives," Blair said wistfully. 

"So Mr. Robart is not a part of your life in your existence?" Stacy asked. 

"No. I had never even heard the name before." 

"That's a shame. He's really a nice man. And a good father, even though he never married your, I mean his mother," Stacy said. "He loves his son a lot. But he never made him work for anything. Maybe Dr. Sandburg wouldn't be such a son of a bitch if he hadn't been so spoiled rotten." 

Blair stood quietly for a few minutes, allowing the information to sink in. Finally he sighed. "Show me," he said. 

Stacy turned back to the door and unlocked it. The room inside gleamed with chrome and glass. Blair followed Stacy to a computer terminal and what looked like a transporter pad from the old Star Trek series. 

"Beam me up, Scotty," Blair whispered. 

Stacy grinned at him. "You're the only other person to ever see this," he said proudly. "Except for Dr. Sandburg." 

"He made this?" Blair asked in awe, wondering if he had it in him to do something so imaginative. 

"He had help," Stacy snapped irritably. "Lots of help." 

"It was your idea, wasn't it?" Blair asked perceptively. "And he took all the credit. Or he was going to." 

Stacy shrugged. "He threatens to fire me all the time, but then he runs into a problem that he doesn't have a clue how to fix and calls me back. That's the only time he's ever nice to me. When he wants something." 

"I'm sorry," Blair stammered. "I, really, I don't know what to say. You have your notes, right? Diagrams, proof that this is your, what did you call it? Accelerator?" 

"Yes. But I could never go head to head with the famous, amazing Dr. Sandburg. He's got the whole world eating out of his hand." 

"What's he done that's so great?" Blair asked, hating that a part of himself could be so asinine. 

"He discovered the sentinels. That's what he got the Nobel Prize for. His friend Captain Ellison was the first. Now they are everywhere, in every police station across the country. Dr. Sandburg is to crime what Edward Jenner was to small pox. He's an institution." 

"Actually, Dr. Richard Burton rediscovered sentinels a hundred years ago," Blair said quietly. 

"Who?" 

"Are you telling me that Sandburg didn't even credit Burton in his dissertation?" 

"No. I never heard of Richard Burton. Well, except for the actor. And Dr. Sandburg makes all his research assistants read his diss before he lets them work for him." 

Blair sat down on a stool next to the computer. 

"Are you ok?" Stacy asked worriedly. 

"Yeah," Blair sighed. "I just don't like myself very much right now." 

* * *

Jim leaned against the wall and listened. He had been halfway to the station to read the report on the explosion, but turned around and came right back. The real key to the mystery was lying on a bed just inside the door that he didn't want to open. 

"Ok. Now, we're going to use long, smooth strokes with the growth of the hair. That's it. Hold the skin taunt. Ok, good. Now rinse. See? You're a natural at this." 

"Thanks, Simon." 

Jim smiled. Blair was gonna get a kick out of this when he told him about Simon teaching a student how to shave, using his face for practice. Or rather a face that looked remarkably like his, Jim corrected himself. 

"Oh no!" the girl exclaimed. The smell of the blood was similar enough to send Jim into blessed protector mode and make him open the door. 

"That's all right. It happens. Take a little piece of that tissue and stick it to the cut," Simon instructed gently as he looked up and made eye contact with Jim. "You did good. I tell you what, why don't you go on and we'll finish this up. Ok?" 

"I'm sorry," Trina sobbed. 

"It's ok," Jim soothed, moving to the bed and patting the student gently on the back. "Don't worry about it. He cuts himself all the time. I'm sorry I left you earlier. It just got to me. Come back tomorrow and you can practice shaving again." 

Trina spared him a look that said she wasn't ever going to try to shave anyone else ever again. "Ok," she said and began to gather and put away the rest of the bath supplies. 

"I'll get that," Jim told her. "Go take a break or something. I'll talk to you later." 

"Thanks. Thank you, Simon," she said and left the room with a sniffle. 

Simon rinsed the razor and took up where the girl left off as Jim held pressure on the cut that really wanted to bleed. "She was doing ok," Simon said with a smirk. "If I hadn't come in, though, she probably would have slit Sandburg's throat." 

"Yeah, I had to leave for awhile. Get my head on straight," Jim explained. He examined the cut and satisfied that it was clotting moved his eyes to Blair's forehead. 

"I know," Simon said softly as he expertly shaved away the stubble. When he looked up, Jim was grinning. "What?" he asked roughly. 

"Nothing. It's just that Sandburg is gonna love this," Jim said as he ran a thumb carefully over the unconscious man's brow and studied it intently. 

Simon frowned and went back to his task. 

"Don't look at me like that, Simon. I'm not crazy. I made a discovery. This isn't Blair," Jim stated matter-of-factly. "You need to peel back the tape and get under there." 

"What?" Simon asked in a deadly serious tone. 

"Just be careful you don't pull the tube out. Here. Let me show you," Jim said as he peeled the pink tape that secured the breathing tube to Blair's face away from one side. "I'll hold it while you shave that spot." 

Simon kept a wary eye on Jim, but did as he was instructed, then dried the area well. Jim fanned it with his hand for a minute before replacing the tape and making sure it was going to stay. They did the other side without speaking. When they were done, they put away the rest of the toiletries and tidied up the room in a strained silence. 

"Jim," Simon said at last. 

"I'm not crazy," Jim reiterated. "This isn't Sandburg." He held Simon's gaze with an unflinching, determined one of his own. Then he smiled again. "See? Right about there," he said as he moved a finger gently along Blair's forehead. "It should be right there." 

"For Pete's sake, Jim," Simon grumbled as he adjusted his glasses and brushed his own hand hesitantly across the pale skin. "I'm not a sentinel. I don't see anything." 

"That's right!" Jim stated excitedly. "There's nothing there to see." 

"Sooo...." Simon prodded, dropping his hand away from Blair's face. 

"So there should be. The real Blair has a little V shaped scar right there," Jim said pointing once again to the spot. "And another small scar should be here." He moved his finger down to Blair's cheek. Once again, the skin was unblemished. 

Simon raised an eyebrow, but didn't offer commentary as Jim drew the covers away from Blair's right leg and pointed to the thigh. After a second of annoyed incomprehension, Simon startled. "Dawson Quinn," he whispered at last. "That's where Blair got shot." 

"Yeah," Jim agreed with a smug nod. 

"I don't understand," Simon said as he lowered himself into a chair. 

"I don't either," Jim admitted. "But I could go on and on. Hanging out with me for the last couple of years has been rough on our intrepid anthropologist. I could point out ten or twelve little scars that just aren't there anymore. It's like he was replaced with a perfect copy, except it's too perfect. It doesn't have any of Blair's little imperfections." 

"But what does all this mean?" Simon asked incredulously. 

"It means that this isn't Blair," Jim insisted. 

Simon stared at the man on the bed for a minute and then at Jim. "Of course it's Blair. Jim, that's just crazy." 

Jim glared back at his captain for a minute, then began a head to toe, front to back, Sentinel examination of the body on the bed. After several long minutes, he settled back into a chair. "In addition to the lack of any scarring on his body," Jim said, "his teeth are capped, his nails are buffed, that's fingers and toes, and he isn't circumcised. You want to tell me how the explosion put his foreskin back on?" he asked sarcastically. 

"Are you sure he was circumcised before?" Simon asked with a raised eyebrow. 

"Knock it off, Simon," Jim cautioned. "He's Jewish. At least our Blair is." 

"Can you find some hair from the loft?" Simon asked suddenly. 

**"DNA?"**

"Yeah. We can do fingerprints, too." 

"If it's his twin, it won't be conclusive." 

"If it's not, it will. Besides, Naomi can shine some light on that when she gets here," Simon reasoned. 

"Right. But if she's lied about it all these years, she might not tell us the truth." 

"I guess we'll cross that bridge when she gets here. But why would someone replace Sandburg with a copy? And if you mention space aliens, I'll get you committed to the psych ward myself." 

"I need to see everything on the case. Forensics, the scene, what's left of the bomb, everything," Jim said counting off on his fingers. "I know this is weird, Simon. But nothing with Sandburg is ever easy. I guess for now, we need to keep this thing quiet." 

"No argument from me," Simon agreed, peeking under the covers. This time Jim raised an eyebrow. "Hey, I'm just looking for the scar," Simon said defensively. 

* * *

After spending much of the night going through Dr. Sandburg's papers, Blair had finally come back to the apartment and gone to bed. Even then, although physically wiped out, his brain had refused to slow down enough to let him sleep until the very early morning. Now he drifted back to consciousness enough to realized that he was on his stomach and strong hands were kneading at his stiff shoulders and back. "Jim...." he purred as his muscles began to relax. 

"Um hum. You still mad at me?" 

"Mad? No," Blair answered sleepily, lost in the luxury of the satin sheets and the massage. "About what?" 

"About what?" Jim laughed. "About Carolyn moving back into the loft." 

Blair's eyes flew open as the last vestiges of sleep were rudely pushed away by the memory of recent events. He rolled over abruptly as Jim began to punctuate the back rub with warm kisses up and down his spine. 

"Good morning," Jim said sensuously as he handed him the cup of coffee that waited on the table next to the bed. "I can't tell you how happy I was when I didn't find you passed out in your office again." 

Blair sipped at the cup as he pulled the comforter up to cover his chest. "Yeah, but me and Stacy did stay up kind of late last night working on, um, things." 

"Stacy," Jim said distastefully. "I don't trust that little geek. He's up to something. I wish you wouldn't hang around with him after hours like that." 

"He's my research assistant," Blair offered. "And we were working, not hanging around." 

"Whatever. I still don't like him." 

"Jealous?" Blair teased, forgetting for a minute that he wasn't dealing with his own Jim. 

"Maybe," Jim said as he leaned in for a kiss. 

"Whoa, hold on there, big guy," Blair said nervously as he sat his coffee back on the nightstand. "We need to talk." 

"So you are still mad," Jim reasoned as he ran a hand lovingly up and down Blair's shoulder. 

"No, Jim. I swear, I'm not mad. There are just a couple little things we need to talk about." He stopped and grabbed Jim's roving hand. "That's a little distracting," he managed at last. 

"Sorry," Jim grinned and let his hand drop into Blair's lap. 

"Oh. That's much better," Blair said sarcastically, removing the hand with a push. 

"What did you want to talk about?" Jim asked more seriously, looking for all the world like someone who knew they were about to be dumped. 

"Um, ok. See, we need to discuss getting you another guide. You know, just in case." Blair didn't add that soon Jim was going to find himself without one. He found it hard not to care, as much as he was starting to dislike Dr. Sandburg, this man was very much like his own Jim. 

"In case of what?" Jim asked solemnly. "What's wrong with the ones I have?" 

"The ones you have?" Blair echoed. He cleared his throat. "Exactly how many guides do you have?" 

"Currently four," Jim provided easily. "But we're always looking for new talent. I'd like to have one for every sentinel eventually, if I can ever get it cleared for the funds. Maybe you can put in a word for me on that?" 

"Yeah, sure," Blair muttered trying not to sound as angry as he suddenly felt. "Let me get this straight. I'm not your Guide?" 

"Oh, Blair, I wish. That would be great! Then we could be together all the time, I mean except for at home. But your time is too valuable to waste down at the station." 

Blair grimaced and chewed at his lip, aware that Jim was watching him intently. "What happened here?" Jim asked after a few minutes as he softly fingered the almost invisible scar on his cheek. 

"Here? I think I got that one when I jumped out of the airplane," Blair answered absently, still coming to grips with the fact that he wasn't Jim's Guide on all plains of existence. "Or was that this one?" he said as he touched his forehead. "No that was from the tower on the rig. This was definitely from Peru." 

"Peru?" Jim asked with a touch of indignation as he surveyed the damage on the once perfect face. 

"Well, not the actual jump itself, you know. I landed in the trees," Blair said, bringing his thoughts back to the conversation. 

"You parachuted out of an airplane?" Jim asked dubiously. 

"Yeah." 

"Blair, you won't even get in an elevator most days. I know you've never jumped out of an airplane." 

"Right," Blair said, realizing that things were very different on this side of reality. "So how's work?" he asked, not sure which way to take the conversation. 

"Same shit, different day," Jim sighed. "Sometimes I wish I was a detective again. I mean, I know that I'm the logical one to run the Sentinel Unit, but I'd love to get back on the street." The longing in his voice tore at Blair's heart, and he felt culpable for the sins of his other self. 

"So, how many sentinels have you got now?" Blair ventured, working hard to keep the emotion out of his voice. 

"Nine. You know, not counting me." 

"Nine? There are ten sentinels in Cascade? All working at the same place? Do they all have five enhanced senses?" Blair asked in amazement. 

Jim smirked. "Of course not. Most have only one sense enhanced. Usually smell. A couple, the elite, have two. I'm the only one with all five, that's why I'm in charge. Blair, you know all this." 

"No, no, I don't. Don't you get it? You're the only real Sentinel in the bunch," Blair blurted out angrily. "That's why you need a Guide. A real Guide, someone that you are bonded to. Then you could do some real police work, not sit behind a desk and push papers. Dr. Sandburg is an idiot if he thinks that anyone with a little extra sense is a sentinel!" 

"Ok, Blair, talking about yourself in third person is a little strange. Calm down," Jim advised unevenly. "Are you all right?" 

Blair took a deep breath and blew it out. Dr. Sandburg might be rich and important, not to mention extremely lucky, but obviously he wasn't all that smart. Or maybe he was just lazy, but he seemed to have missed a great deal when it came to Sentinels. Especially this one, because he had managed to fuck up this James Ellison's life. This Jim was not in the least happy with the way things were working out, and yet he struggled to hold on to the little prick who screwed things up for him so badly in the first place. 

"I'm not Dr. Sandburg," Blair said quietly, emphatically, deciding that Jim deserved to know the truth. He hoped, but doubted seriously, that the other Blair would do the same for his Jim under similar circumstances. 

"What are you saying?" 

"I'm not who you think I am. I'm just plain old Blair Sandburg; grad student, police observer, Guide, shaman, friend. That's who I am. But I know a hell of a lot more about Sentinels than your Dr. Blair Sandburg-Robart Ph.D., Ph.D., Noble Laureate. He is such an ass!" 

Jim stared open mouthed, but didn't say anything. 

"In my reality, Jim Ellison is my partner, or rather, I'm his. Oh, but not in the way you are with your Blair," he added with more than a little embarrassment. "Anyway, Jim is the Sentinel, and I am his Guide. We have this bond," Blair explained, moving his hand between him and the other Jim as a visual aid. "I work with him at the PD, and frankly, together we kick criminal butt." 

"Blair, you've been working too hard," Jim sighed, catching the still moving hand and pulling it fondly to his chest. 

"I'm not your Blair. You don't even know me. Jim," Blair pleaded easing his hand away from the other man's grasp. "Listen to me. It worked. The quantum accelerator worked. Your Blair used it to visit my reality, which brought me here in his place. I guess it's the cosmic way of keeping things balanced or something from what I've read of his notes. And believe me, I spent almost all night going through his papers." 

"You making all this up because you don't want to be with me," Jim accused. 

"No! It has nothing to do with that. I'm sure your Blair would love to take a roll in the hay with you. But I'm not him. I'm not," Blair swore, getting just a tad hyper. 

Jim sighed and moved away. "How am I supposed to believe you?" 

Blair groaned in frustration. "I don't know. How can I prove it to you?" he asked, rubbing his eyes hard with the palms of his hands, trying to think. "Wait! Look at this. I'll bet Mr. Lucky doesn't have a scar like this on his leg, huh?" he said excitedly as he yanked the covers away from his thigh. 

"What happened here?" Jim asked as he traced the scar with his finger. 

"I got shot. It's a long story," he added as Jim whipped his head around with a disbelieving, but somehow frightened look. "And there's a story behind each and every little scar on my body. Me and Jim both tend to get scratched up a little in the line of duty, but we usually get the bad guy." 

"You're serious about all this?" Jim asked, meeting his eyes with an intensity that he hadn't seen from this Jim. 

"Yes. But there's more," Blair whispered. 

"Tell me everything." 

Blair sighed. "I don't believe that Dr. Sandburg is going to survive his visit to my world." 

* * *

"Hello. I'm Doctor Malik," the thin woman at the side of the bed said as Jim came through the door. She pulled Blair's gown down and tucked the blanket back around his form. Jim gave her a cursory nod and moved to stand on the other side of the bed. "Are you a family member?" 

"Yeah, more or less. I'm Jim Ellison. I have Mr. Sandburg's health care power of attorney. But his mother is on the way. She's been out of the country. I thought Dr. Jones was taking care of Blair." 

"He is. I'm here with the transplant team. I'll be harvesting the organs," the doctor explained gently. 

"Harvesting," Jim repeated and sat down next to the bed. He had been at the bombsite and was still a little dusty, but they were expecting Naomi at anytime and he didn't want her to have to see who she thought was Blair all by herself. 

"You say his mother will be here soon?" 

"Yes, and I understand that you are anxious to get to it," Jim said, sounding harsher than he intended. "But I'm sure she would like a little time with her son before you cut him up." 

"Mr. Ellison, I'm sure you think I'm a vulture waiting for Mr. Sandburg's death, but you couldn't be more wrong. The death of someone so young and vital is a tragedy and it saddens me greatly. But it has the potential to do so much good." 

"What if he could get up out of the bed and walk away? Would that be a good thing or a bad thing?" Jim asked quietly. 

"That's not going to happen, sir." 

"Just hypothetically," Jim answered impatiently. "If he could walk away, would you be happy for him even though so many people would lose the benefit of his death?" 

"I would rejoice for him," Dr. Malik said easily. "Those other people would not really be any worse off than before, but they would just have to wait. There are not a lot of people willing to offer themselves in this way. I understand that Mr. Sandburg was very giving." 

"Yes, he is," Jim said stubbornly. Wherever he is. Suddenly he felt the clock ticking. If he didn't find Blair soon, they were going to pull the plug and slice up his replacement. He didn't understand it, but he felt like if they did, he would never get his own Blair back. 

* * *

Blair went through every key on the ring, but none of them got him into the lab at the back of his office. "Do you know where the key to this door is?" he asked Jim who was poking around in the papers on the desk. 

"How should I know? I've never been allowed in there," he said with a shrug. "Blair is very secretive. Look, what can I call you? It seems kind of strange to call you Blair, too." 

"Jim calls me Chief," Blair supplied as he joined him at the desk and began to go through the drawers looking for the key. "Why the hell wouldn't he have a key to his own lab?" he asked in annoyance. 

"That little shit Stacy probably has one," Jim said. 

"Yeah. No doubt." Blair sighed and sat on the edge of the desk. 

"Chief, huh? Why that?" 

Blair thought for a minute. "I don't know. He used to call everyone that, then he kinda started using it just for me. He calls me lots of things. Darwin, Junior, lots of things." 

"And you're not lovers?" Jim asked, his face impassive. 

"No." 

"Tell me about the bond again," Jim said, sinking into the large leather chair behind the desk and steepling his fingers in front of him. 

"I don't know what to tell you about it," Blair hedged, feeling uncomfortable talking to anyone but Jim, the real Jim, about it. "Have you always been gay? Why'd you marry Carolyn?" he asked. 

"I'm not... I mean... no. Only with Blair. We were drawn together in a way that I can't really explain. I was married to her when I met him. I fought the attraction for a while, but I couldn't stay away from him. Then it got kind of ugly after she found out about us." 

"You'd rather be with him than with her?" 

"Something like that." 

"But he's like, really self absorbed, isn't he? And eccentric as hell. How do you have a relationship with someone like that?" 

"You are so annoying," Jim said as he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "Please, I'd really like to know about the bond." 

"Ok." Blair exhaled forcefully. "I'm not even sure when exactly we became aware of it. Maybe sometime after Incacha died?" Blair glanced at the man across from him for any recognition of the name. Nothing. "Anyway, Jim can like, I don't know feel me. Does that make any sense? He knows when I'm in trouble. Stuff like that. It's a spiritual thing, like we're together even when we're not. I'm his Guide." 

"That must be great," Jim said wistfully. 

"Why would that be great? You just said that I was annoying," Blair reminded him. 

"You are, Chief," Jim said, managing a small sad smile. "I meant it would be great to have that with my Blair." 

"What's he doing here?" Stacy asked as he came into the office without knocking, moving to the lab with the key already in his hand. 

"I brought him here. Stacy, I told him," Blair said. 

"You what? How could you? You had no right! This is none of your business," Stacy ranted. 

"I think it is his business," Jim said gruffly, rising from the desk. "You and Blair had no right to rip him away from his very existence to satisfy your own interests." 

"So you actually believe all this," Stacy said, completely blown away by the fact. 

"I recognize that this is not Blair. I mean he's not my Blair," Jim stated coolly. "I guess I'm not as dumb as you thought I was." 

"Did he tell you that your Blair is probably dead?" Stacy asked with venom in his voice. 

"I told him," Blair answered, gradually easing between the two before Jim could react to the subtle harassment. 

"Can you send him back?" Jim asked, a little catch in his voice. 

"Yes," Stacy said evenly. "By sometime tomorrow, if my calculations are correct." 

"What calculations?" Blair asked suspiciously. "From what I read, we should be able to do it whenever we want to." 

"Oh, yeah right. You read a few papers and now you're the expert. I take back what I said. You're exactly like Dr. Sandburg. Step on up, Doc," he said pointing to the platform as he opened the door. "Let's spread your atoms all over the universe. Doesn't even matter which one, does it?" Stacy sneered as he slipped inside, Blair right on his heels. 

"Easy," Jim warned as he joined them in the small chrome room, taking a good look around. 

"Tomorrow when?" Blair asked. 

"Around noon," Stacy said. "Why don't you two go have dinner or something? Give the Neanderthal time to say good bye to his lover?" he goaded. 

"Good idea," Blair said planting a hand on Jim's chest as he moved to face off with the smaller man. "Hey, do I have a key to get in here?" 

"You don't need one," Stacy said firmly. "You couldn't work this without me anyway." 

"Right," Blair said, as he motioned Jim out of the room. He felt a strange sense of apprehension. "See you tomorrow, Stacy." 

* * *

"Well?" Jim asked, looking up hopefully as Simon entered the room. 

Simon shook his head and handed over a folder. "It's him. DNA and fingerprints both confirm it. This is Blair Sandburg, whether he has scars or not." 

"No. No way, Simon. It's not him, I can't feel him. His heartbeat is different, his blood smells different. I KNOW it's not him!" 

"Jim, I know how it feels to lose someone you love. Hell, I love Sandburg, too. He's a good friend, a good man," Simon pleaded. "You've got to let him go. You lost the bond because he's already gone." 

"No. I lost the bond before the bomb went off. Something happened in those few seconds." 

Simon sighed and settled on the foot of the bed. Arguing with Jim when he had already made his mind up about something was about as useless as tits on a boar hog. "Did you find anything at the scene?" he asked, steering the conversation in a more productive direction. 

"Not exactly, but there is something strange. The fingerprints found on the pad lock outside of the boiler room door belong to a physics student named Stacy Headen." 

"And?" 

"He died in a car accident over a year ago." 

Jim looked up just as the door opened. A pale and fragile looking Naomi came in. "My baby," she cried as she rushed to the bed. "What did you do to my baby?" 

* * *

"Where are we going?" Jim asked as they left the building. 

"I don't know. Anywhere but here, man. Let's get something to eat." 

"Sure. Hey, do you have the keys to Blair's car?" 

"Yeah," Blair answered with a grin as he flipped them over to Jim. 

"Great! I've been dying to drive this bad boy." 

* * *

Naomi sat tearfully by the deathbed of her only child. "A twin?" she asked. "Of course not. Why would you ask me that?" She studied Simon as intently as Jim studied her. No jump in heart rate or respirations. No evidence of a lie. 

Jim dropped his head and slowly shook it as Simon turned to him for confirmation. A tentative knock sounded at the door and Dr. Malik opened it slightly when no one answered. 

"Can I come in?" she asked. 

"Yes, Dr. Malik. Is everything ready?" Naomi asked, wiping her face with a tissue. 

The doctor nodded her graying head. "Yes, we're all set. At noon tomorrow we'll move your son to the holding area of the operating suite. We'll remove the breathing tube and allow him to pass. I promise, no one will do anything until he does. You can stay with him until the end if you would like." 

"No, no. I couldn't do that. I'm afraid that I'm too weak. I'll say my good-byes before they take him. Jim will stay with him. Won't you Jim?" 

"Of course I will, Naomi. Nothing could keep me away," Jim said huskily, finally realizing that he was in fact going to lose his friend. 

"I understand that people will be coming by to say their good-byes tonight?" the doctor asked. 

"That's right," Simon answered for Naomi as she buried her head once again in Jim's shoulder, overcome by another round of tears. "Blair had a lot of friends." 

* * *

Blair opened the door and wandered over to one of the couches. "Shouldn't you go home?" he asked as Jim followed him into the grand apartment. "Carolyn's gonna be pissed." 

"Screw her," Jim said flopping down beside him on the couch. "I've lost the only person in the world that I really love. What can she do if Blair is dead? I'm going to leave her. I don't care what she says or who she says it to." 

"You are too valuable to the department for them to fire you over something stupid like an affair with another man," Blair declared. "Besides, it's none of their business." 

"I know." 

"Jim, you could do so much more," Blair started, but realized that Jim wasn't really listening to him. "Tell me about your senses," he said instead, trying to draw him out. 

"What about them? They kicked in about three years ago when I was on a stakeout out in the woods." 

"The Switchman?" Blair asked. 

"Huh?" 

"Never mind. Go on." 

"Anyway, Blair found me in a mental institution a couple months after that. My blasted senses pushed me right over the edge," Jim stated dispassionately, as if he had given up. 

"Does your, um, Sentinel Unit solve a lot of crimes?" Blair asked. 

"No, they don't exactly solve crimes. They are used more like human forensic teams. They go to crime scenes and smell out any clues that everyone else might have missed," Jim explained. 

"That's it?" Blair asked incredulously. 

"Yeah, what else is there?" 

Blair shook his head forcefully to keep from screaming at the reticent Sentinel. He took a minute to settle himself before continuing. "Do you ever, like 'zone out' on things?" 

Jim sighed. "I used to, back when I actually used my senses more. Now, I don't really go in the field much so I rarely use them. More or less, I just have good hearing. Blair taught me how to essentially turn the rest of them off." 

"Oh, Jim," Blair said softly. "I could teach you so much." 

"Same here," Jim said with the ghost of a smile, reaching out to caress a wayward strand of curly hair. 

Blair laughed and looked away. "You're killing me here," he said shyly. 

"He was more like you in the beginning, before he won the Nobel. After that he was just so self important. We sort of drifted apart. But I never stopped loving him." 

"That's just so sad," Blair said, feeling the other man's pain, as it was almost palpable. 

"So you're not interested in a little...." Jim waggled an eyebrow. 

"No. Um, no thanks. Really," Blair stammered. "But I can show you some things with your senses, if you'd like." 

"Like what?" Jim asked, showing a little more interest. 

"Like how to control them. How to use them. All of them. Come on, Jim," Blair practically pleaded. "Don't waste your gifts hiding behind a desk. Isn't there someone who could be your full time Guide?" 

"Maybe," Jim said thoughtfully with a little more enthusiasm. "I think I have just the person in mind." 

"That's great," Blair exclaimed as he jumped off the couch. "We've got so much to do and less than a day to do it. Let's get busy. I want you to picture a dial in your head..." 

Jim smiled. He decided that he liked his new Guide very much, even if he was annoying. 

* * *

Joel lingered the longest. He had been to see Blair several times, but had yet to make it all the way into the room. Now that he was actually in the room, he couldn't find it in his heart to leave, so he didn't. Feeling guilty was only a small part of it, and he did feel like he had failed his friend in the end. But he had thought of Blair as so much more than a friend, almost as a son. So he stood by the door silently acknowledging the other people as they came and went. There were lots of people from the college, students and teachers. This wasn't all that surprising since Blair's classes were always full, and he was incredibly popular with the university staff as well. What really surprised Joel was the number of cops who came to say good-bye. Uniforms and detectives alike streamed through the room in an endless line, all solemn and sad. It was hard, losing one of their own. 

Jim appeared broken as he stood near the bed and nodded occasionally as someone would speak to him. He looked something like a rock, Joel mused. Hard and cold and lifeless. Touching no one. Neither giving nor receiving comfort. Jim would be strong for now, but God help him when he would finally be alone. Joel feared for him, and vowed to be there for him after tomorrow, whether Jim wanted him around or not. 

It had been Naomi's idea that Blair's friends should say good-bye before his scheduled death. At first it struck him as ghoulish, but now Joel could see the good that it did the people who loved Blair to be able to say farewell. To touch his skin while it was still pink and warm. No one said a word about how natural he looked. Naomi had also announced that there would be a wake a day or two later, instead of a funeral. She said that Blair would want it that way, and Jim had agreed. 

Naomi relished the attention. She soaked it up, glowed with it as she displayed her only son to the grieving masses. Joel bit down his resentment as she laughed at something someone said. She hugged and touched and cried, easily sharing her emotions, something her son did as well. And now she laughed. "Blair would love that," she said. Maybe he would, Joel thought. Maybe he would. But then, Blair understood his mother. 

Clearly, Jim did not. He pushed his way through the crowd, but Joel stopped him at the door. "Jim?" 

"Not now, Joel," Jim whispered without making eye contact, and then he was gone. 

Jim never showed back up, but Joel remained at his self-appointed post by the door. Eventually the crowd thinned down, mostly because hospital administration had begun to ask that only immediate family and very close friends come, due to the lateness of the hour and the disturbance that the multitude of people was beginning to cause. Rafe and Brown entered slowly, followed by Simon. Brown broke down at the bedside, but refused to be pulled away. Rafe held him on one side and Simon on the other as he cried. Suddenly it was too much and Joel slipped through the door and stumbled down the hall. 

At long last, he burst into the cool night air, drawing lungs full of it until his head began to spin. He found a dark bench and sank into it just as the tears began. Within a few minutes there was a warm presence beside him and then an arm around his shoulders. Before long, he and Jim sobbed together late into the night. 

* * *

"Blair, it's late," Jim complained as he closed his eyes and leaned his head on his hand. He relaxed a little deeper into the couch. 

"We're running out of time," Blair insisted as he paced around the livingroom. "What I want you to try now..." 

"Blair!" Jim said, raising his head and capturing the younger man's gaze. 

Blair froze in place and stared wide eyed at the Sentinel. "You called me Blair." 

"Last I heard, that was still your name," Jim smiled sleepily as he reached up and grasped him by the arm. 

"I'm not him," Blair stated calmly, but resisted the gentle pull on his arm. 

"I know that. Sit down anyway. You're wearing me out. Have pity on an old man." 

Blair laughed. "You're not old. And we have a long way to go." He finally allowed himself to be drawn down onto the sofa. 

"Enough. You need to rest," Jim persisted. 

"Jim, we've just scratched the surface here," Blair said, stifling a yawn. "You're doing so great, and we have so much more to do than time to do it." 

"So stay." Jim tugged again on Blair's arm and maneuvered him until his head was resting in his lap. 

"What?" Blair asked as he pulled his legs up onto the couch. 

"Stay here. With me. You can take your time and teach me everything." Jim used the remote to turn down the lights. He didn't need them anyway, since Blair had shown him how well he could see, even in the dark. 

"I can't," Blair said, as if it the reasons were obvious. Trusting completely, he closed his eyes. 

Jim smoothed his hair away from his face. "Why not?" 

"Because Jim needs me," Blair murmured as he drifted off to sleep. 

"I am Jim," came the soft reply. 

* * *

The dawn broke cold and clear. Jim watched the sun come up from the window in Blair's room. This was it. The day that he would lose his best friend forever. That's what his mind told him. But his heart steadfastly refused to have any of it. This still wasn't Blair, as if that mattered now. Wherever Blair was, he hoped that he was safe. 

Late in the night, Jim had returned to the room and tried to convince Naomi that the body in the bed couldn't possibly be her son. He begged her to call off the transplant team for a few days. Just until they could figure out what was really going on. 

"Don't you think that a mother knows her son?" she had ranted. "You think you know him better than I do? There's no reason to wait. This is what Blair would want. We need to get on with our lives. Let him go Jim. Let him find his peace." 

Although her words still rang crystal clear in his ears, Jim couldn't quite remember what he had said in return. It had been bad, he was sure, because she had asked him to leave. But he hadn't, and she hadn't pushed it. She still wanted him to go with Blair so that he wouldn't die alone, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to bear it. 

An orderly came very early and shaved the chest and abdomen of the body and then cleaned it with Betadine, leaving an orange colored cast to the skin. He would be cleaned again right before the incision, they were informed. But that would be later. After he officially died. 

Naomi tried to be brave, but ended up in tears. Jim held her in his arms, but kept his eyes focused on the sunrise. They didn't talk anymore. There was nothing left to say. 

* * *

When Jim woke up he used his new found control over his long unused senses to locate Blair. The slightly elevated temperature and humidity coming from the bathroom upstairs, along with the smells of shampoo and soap, told him that Blair had already showered. The scent of coffee from the kitchen told him that he'd actually been up for awhile. He listened for any sound of movement, instead he found the soft, steady lub-dub of Blair's heart. Rising from the couch he climbed the stairs to find Blair sitting at the desk across from the bed, staring forlornly at something in his hands. 

"What are you doing?" Jim asked, breaking the heavy silence. 

Blair shrugged and lay Dr. Sandburg's address book back on the desk. "I was going to look up my father's address, but I can't seem to make myself open the damned book. I was wondering where he lives." 

"Baltimore," Jim provided. "You didn't know that?" 

"I didn't even know his name until now," Blair said, meeting Jim's eyes solemnly. 

"Are you even sure you and Blair have the same father, so to speak?" Jim asked, trying to consider all possibilities. 

"I think as much alike as we are physically that we would have to be genetically identical," Blair mused. "That would mean that we'd have to come from the same gene pool. Yeah, we'd have to have the same man as a father in both worlds, or we wouldn't both be us." 

"Ok, you lost me with that little twist of logic there," Jim teased. "So why the long face? Call him." 

Blair looked away with something close to panic in his eyes. "I can't." 

"You keep saying that. There's nothing stopping you," Jim urged. "I'll be right here. Pick up the phone and dial the number." 

Blair picked the small book off of the desk and flipped through it to D for Dad. Exactly where he would have put it in his own book, if he had had a dad to put in it. Jim sat down on the end of the bed and offered a supportive smile while Blair dialed the number with shaky hands. 

"Robart Industries," came the cool crisp female voice. "How may I direct your call." Jim adjusted his new 'dial' so that he could hear both sides of the conversation. 

"Mr. Robart, please. This is Blair Sandburg." 

"Hello, Dr. Sandburg. I'll put your call straight through," the voice said in a much more pleasant tone. Blair looked up at Jim again and swallowed as it rang one time. When it rang the second time, he moved to hang up the phone, but Jim caught his hand and held it gently before he could disconnect. 

"Hello," came a rich, tenor voice, not unlike his own. 

Blair squeezed his eyes shut and raised the phone to his ear, but didn't answer. "It's ok," Jim whispered. 

"Hello?" the voice said again. 

"Dad," Blair blurted out at last, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's me." 

"Blair, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing, I... it's good to hear your voice." He opened his eyes, and turned away from Jim who knelt down beside him and kept a hand on his back. 

"Ok, now you're scaring me. Really, what's wrong?" 

Blair laughed nervously. "Is that the only time I ever call? When something's wrong?" 

"That, or when you need funding for one of your little projects," Robart said seriously. 

"Yeah, well, I'm a prick," Blair said without thinking. "Oh, Dad. I'm sorry," he quickly apologized and grabbed a pillow off the bed to whack Jim with when he started to laugh. 

"What's up, son?" 

"You never married Naomi," Blair said, not a question. 

"Oh, Blair. You know your mother. She was too much of a free spirit for something as mundane as marriage. She still is." 

"But you love her, right?" 

"Very much." 

"And you love me?" Blair asked, barely above a whisper. He thought the silence on the other end would break his heart. 

"More than anything in the world," his father breathed at last. 

A teardrop hit the desk, then another. "Will you say the words?" 

"I love you, Blair." 

"Thanks, Dad. I love you, too." 

"I can be there in about eight hours," Robart said suddenly. 

"What do you mean?" Blair asked in confusion. When he looked up, Jim looked away, wiping his cheek mysteriously. 

"I don't know what's going on, but something is wrong. I'll be there as soon as I can." 

"No, Dad. Don't come. I just felt.... I just wanted to tell you one time thanks for being my father." 

"Are you sure you don't want me to come? If you need me, I'm there," Robart insisted. 

"That's good to know," Blair said truthfully. "I've got to go. Remember, I love you. Bye." 

"You'll always be my boy, Blair. I promise." 

Blair ended the call and sat staring at the phone in his hand for several minutes. "You should have let him come," Jim said softly. "I know you'll like him." 

"I'd already be gone before he could get here," Blair sighed. 

"No," Jim assured. "You'll still be around." 

"Uh, no. I'm leaving at noon, remember?" 

"Everyone in your world already thinks you're dead. My Blair is dead. We could do so much together, you said it yourself. I can't let you go back." 

"What are you saying?" Blair asked uneasily. "I have to go back. Jim needs me." 

"I need you. Besides, he thinks you're dead. If he's anything like me, he already ate a bullet," Jim insisted. "What if you get back and he's already gone? Then we'll both be alone. Stay here. We'll be happy in at least one reality." 

Blair sat and stared. "Are you saying that since your Blair is dead, that if I leave you'll kill yourself?" 

"I didn't say that," Jim said, shaking his head. 

"Yes, essentially, you did. You think my Jim would kill himself if I died. You don't even know him," Blair said angrily. 

"I am him," Ellison shot back. 

"No, you're not. And I am going home. I have to." 

"I'm going to start some breakfast. Then we can work on my senses some more. Don't try anything, Chief. I'm still bigger than you are, and with the control you've given me, you won't be able to sneak away. This is your new home. Get used to it." 

* * *

When Simon came in around eleven, Naomi was meditating and Jim was staring out the window. Sandburg seemed so very alone in the middle of the room. Jim turned around and acknowledged his boss's arrival, but Naomi sat still and quiet, her mind somewhere peaceful. 

"It's almost time I guess," Simon said, moving to the bed to capture a still hand in his own, feeling like someone should be at the bedside. 

Jim grunted. 

"Shouldn't you be with him now while you can?" Simon asked cautiously. 

"It's not him," Jim sighed. 

Simon felt an anger rise up inside him. "What if you are wrong? What if it is him and you lose this opportunity? How will you feel then?" 

The haunted blue eyes that swept over to the bed answered the question with startling clarity. It didn't matter, because he wouldn't be around long to feel anything. If Sandburg left, Ellison would follow. 

"Please, Jim. Use this time to be with him. In an hour from now, it will be too late," Simon urged. "If it's not him, then nothing is wasted but time." 

Jim nodded and went to the bed. He took the other hand and allowed himself to be human for a minute. Dropping the walls that he had so carefully built back up since sitting with Joel the night before, he permitted himself to feel. He began to cry then, openly and unashamed for what he had lost. For what he was about to lose. For Blair. 

Naomi raised her head and for a moment looked like she would flee. Instead she gathered herself up and went to Jim. "I'm so sorry, Jim. I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm not a bad mother. Really, I'm not." 

Jim returned the embrace and together they held onto to the cool hand where the IV had been removed. "Is that what I said?" he asked. "Did I call you a bad mother?" 

"You don't remember?" 

"No, I just wanted to hurt you. I didn't mean it." 

"I know, Jim. It's ok." 

Jim kissed her forehead. "I'm so sorry, Naomi. If I could go in his place, I would." 

* * *

Blair sat and sullenly picked at his eggs. He had already made a run for it and had seen that one Jim Ellison's temper was pretty much the same as the other. Watching the clock, he wondered if Stacy had lied. There wasn't one shred of evidence in the papers he had read that the accelerator only worked at certain intervals. But if it was true, then his time was running out. 

"Come on, Chief. I said I was sorry. Did I hurt you?" 

"No," Blair said, rubbing his wrist again to make sure that the big bully knew it hurt. "I'm fine." He went to the sink and dumped what was left on his plate down the disposal. 

"This will all work out for the best. You'll see," Jim said. 

Blair didn't answer, but began to clean up the kitchen. 

"Why do you think that me and Blair never developed the bond that you had with your sentinel?" Jim asked, tiring of the silent treatment, knowing that Blair couldn't resist a direct question like that. 

"I don't know," Blair said as he turned around and leaned against the sink. "It could be because he's never really been your Guide, even though he was probably supposed to be. Since you two never shared the Sentinel/Guide thing, the bond developed in a different way. That's my best guess." 

"So if you were to become my Guide, we would develop the bond? Then we wouldn't have a physical relationship?" Jim asked. 

Blair shrugged absently. "I suppose so. But I don't know if you can actually turn something like that off. Either way, it's not gonna happen." 

"It will. Just give it time. You're not losing anything, you know. You'll still have the people who love you. You're rich, you're famous, you live in a wonderful place and have a great job. You'll never miss your old life. I promise," Jim assured. "You go rest, I'll finish up in here." 

"Hey, Jim," Blair said slowly as an idea popped into his head. "Let's do a test." 

"What kind of test?" Jim asked suspiciously. 

"A hearing test. I want you to listen to the disposal and see if you can separate out the sounds of the toast from the eggs as they get pulverized." 

"That sounds kind of silly," Jim said. 

Blair turned determined eyes on him. "That's why I'm the Guide. It would help if you wouldn't question what I ask of you," he said icily. "If you don't learn to trust me, we never will get anywhere." 

Jim sighed dramatically. "Ok, you're the boss. Turn it on." 

"Nothing but the sound," Blair instructed as he turned on the water and hit the switch. Jim flinched slightly before he got his dial adjusted. "Tune everything else out. You don't hear anything but the disposal. That's it, focus." 

The untrained Sentinel did as he was told, determined to show what a good student he could be. The zone out was almost instantaneous. 

* * *

Naomi never looked lovelier, Jim decided as she kissed her son good-bye for the last time. She looked so much like a mother during the simple act. Simon stood with an arm around her slender shoulders as the orderly pushed the stretcher away. A nurse had taken Blair off of the ventilator, but continued to give him breaths with a hand held ambu bag. Jim glanced back once before following, his chest constricted as Naomi's sobs turned to screams of anguish and pain. He listened to them all the way to the surgical holding area, and then he shut them out. 

Dr. Malik insisted on removing the tube herself, and did so without pomp or circumstance. When she finished, she looked at Jim expectantly. "It won't take long. Would you like a minute alone?" she asked. 

Jim nodded, but never even glanced at her. He held Blair's hand to his chest as he listened to the heart as it began to slow. He didn't notice when the room emptied of people, his entire focus on the beat, until the very last one. Then he knew he was completely alone. 

* * *

"Good, you're here," Stacy said as Blair appeared suddenly in the door of the office. 

"Yeah, let's get this show on the road. I gotta get out of here. Now." 

"Not so fast," Stacy muttered as he removed his feet from the top of Dr. Sandburg's desk. "I need a favor first." 

"You said we had to do this at noon," Blair stated pointing at the clock on the wall, trying not to show his frustration. 

"Give or take a few minutes." Stacy pushed his glasses up on his nose. "This'll only take a sec." 

"Anything you say, just make it quick." Blair spared a nervous glance at the door, expecting it to fill with a pissed off Sentinel any second. 

Stacy laughed. "He didn't want you to leave, did he? I don't blame him, I like you a lot more than Dr. Sandburg, too. Too bad you can't stay." 

"The favor?" Sandburg asked impatiently. 

"I want you to sign some papers for me. Date it yesterday." 

Blair accepted the handful of legal looking papers and glanced through them. They already had, somewhat illegally, a notary seal on them, dated yesterday. "This says that the accelerator was all your idea and that I give up all rights to it," Blair said as he read. 

"That's right. What's it to you? You'll be back in your own world anyway." 

"Whatever," Blair said and signed the papers in rapid-fire sequence. "Now, let's ride." 

"Go on in," Stacy said with a flourish, apparently quite pleased with himself as he rifled through the papers. 

"Shit," Blair exclaimed as he heard the pounding footsteps in the hall. "Lock the door," he shouted as he rushed into the lab. Stacy followed and hit the lock just as Ellison bounded into the office. 

"Blair! Don't do it! Damn it, Stacy, I'll kill you if you send him back!" They could barely hear him through the thick door, although they were sure he was shouting. 

Stacy looked a little unnerved by the threat. "He won't kill you," Blair assured. "He's a cop," he added lamely. 

"Step on up," Stacy ordered. 

As Blair turned he felt a sting on his shoulder. "Hey! What was that?" he asked as he lost his footing and fell onto the platform. 

"Curare," Stacy smirked. "I read about it in an old paper of yours, actually. Back when you were an anthropologist instead of a physicist wanna be. I need you to be cooperative for a few minutes while I get things ready." 

"What things?" Blair asked drunkenly as his head began to swim. 

"It took me a while to find a way for inanimate objects to pass through the field. The solution was pretty simple, actually. I just wrap whatever I want to send in a light reflecting material and it passes right through," Stacy explained as he put something in a shiny bag and set it on the platform with Blair. "I could give you the details, but we're running out of time." 

Blair used what little strength he had left to glance into the bag. The bomb looked very familiar. But there was only a minute left on the timer. 

"I've been through myself several times. As a matter of fact, I'm the one who called you and told you to go down to the basement. I convinced Dr. Sandburg that he had to go at the exact moment that he did. Very clever, if I do say so myself. If you commit murder in another existence, is it really murder? There's no evidence." 

"You're confessing with a cop right outside," Blair managed. "A Sentinel cop." 

"That's a bunch of hogwash and you know it," Stacy scoffed. "He can't hear us." 

"Why kill me?" 

"I wouldn't have to if you hadn't kept going through the papers. You learned enough that with the proper help, you could have built an accelerator of your own." 

Blair closed his eyes and felt the pull into unconsciousness. "Help me, Jim," he pleaded softly. 

There was a soft mechanical whine as Stacy typed enthusiastically on the keyboard. A shot rang out and the door burst open. Jim sent Stacy flying across the room and moved to Blair's side. 

Blair managed to open his eyes as he felt Jim's warm mouth against his for a second. Then Jim was gone, taking the bomb with him, but leaving Blair on the platform. A flash of light, and it was over. 

* * *

The light was sudden and intense, but over so quickly that Jim barely had time to flinch. It was the return of the bond that slammed him to his knees. Stunned, he climbed back to his feet, registering the heartbeat, slow, but definitely there. And sounding absolutely right. As he ran a hand over the beautiful scar on Blair's forehead, blue eyes blinked open. They were groggy, but aware. 

"Bout time you showed up," Jim croaked out as hot tears washed his face, baptizing one wayward anthropologist as they fell. 

Blair bestowed a dopey, lopsided grin on him. "I got back as soon as I could," he said. 

Jim pulled him up and hugged him tight, rocking him gently in his arms as he cried. He began to murmur all of the things he had thought to say after he thought it was too late. 

Blair tried to hold on, but the drug seemed to make his arms useless and heavy, so he hung like a rag doll, resting his head on Jim's chest. 

"It's time, Mr. Ellison. You have to let go now," a woman said from somewhere behind Jim. 

"Time for what?" Blair asked, concentrating all his effort to raise his head and look to where the voice came from. 

Dr. Malik fainted when her donor looked at her and spoke. 

Jim glanced over his shoulder. "Oops," he said with a laugh, but didn't budge from the side of the stretcher. 

"Who is that?" Blair asked, a little bewildered. 

"Oh, that's Dr. Malik. She was getting ready to harvest your organs," Jim explained with a smirk. 

"Uh, I'll have to veto that, since I'm still using them. I guess my other self really did die then, didn't he? Hey, you went through with my last wishes. I didn't know if you would, since you hated the thought of organ donation so much when we talked about it." 

"Of course I followed your wishes," Jim said vehemently. 

"Oh, Jim, you thought I was dead." 

Jim shook his head and pulled Blair close again. "I knew it wasn't really you." 

"How did you know?" 

"For starters, he didn't really have any scars. And he wasn't circ... anyway, I couldn't feel him." 

"Oh, no," Blair gasped. 

"What's wrong?" 

"The other Jim...." 

"Other Jim?" 

"Yeah, I was sort of in an alternate reality. A parallel universe, if that makes any sense. The kid who sent the other Blair here also set the bomb to kill him. He was going to send a bomb back with me, but Jim saved me. He grabbed the bomb, but let me go on through the accelerator. It probably went off right after I got back here. They must both be dead now. Jim and Blair." 

"I don't really understand," Jim said. "But at least they're together." 

Malik started to stir, and suddenly, there were people flooding into the room. They would have to wait to more thoroughly discuss recent events, but the surgery was canceled. 

* * *

When Jim got home, Sandburg met him at the door. "Where have you been, man? We're gonna be late for my wake." 

Jim grinned foolishly and pulled his friend in for a hug. "Sorry, I got tied up at the driver's license office. Don't complain. Most people don't get to go to their own wakes." 

"I know," Blair laughed as he pulled away. "Go change! Hurry up," he prodded. 

"Ok," Jim said as he placed a kiss on his Guide's forehead. "But we gotta talk first. This is important." He pulled out his wallet and took out his new driver's license. "Read this." 

Blair put on his glasses and took the card. He glanced at it briefly before it struck him what he was supposed to be looking for. "Oh, Jim. Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, Chief," Jim answered seriously. "If something happens to me, I want you to make sure they know I'm a donor." 

The End 

* * *

End Quantum Luck by Kikkimax: Kikkimax@aol.com

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